


After hours

by hummingafterhours



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingafterhours/pseuds/hummingafterhours
Summary: It's been a year since Antwerp, Theo is ready to embrace life and learn that sometimes its okay to trust your heart. The sequel we all deserve.
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 20
Kudos: 52





	1. Capitalistic christmas cheer

  
Its been a long year, but much needed in order to find a sense of self. I travelled mostly, Texas, New Orleans and other remote states. Empty airport lounges in early mornings, neon signs of motels and cheap yellow taxis. Here to there, here to there.

  
I’m back now though, back in New York. For how long? I do not know. Hobie insisted on collected me from the airport, meaning I have no choice but to wait in the December chill for him to pick me up in his dusty beetle. I’m thankful for my grey woollen coat, for its kept the worst of the wind away, still I do wish I had remembered my scarf or even gloves.

  
“Potter!”

  
I turn around and who else is there but none other than Boris.  
Boris, dark curls and long black coat, boyish smile running to great me. He flings his arms around my neck in an embrace. “Am so sorry for the delay. Traffic, you know, Americans completely obsessed with Christmas, I think is just another capitalist marketing ploy myself but” he lookes me up and down “you look cold, come ,come, Gyuri is waiting for us” and with that he takes the luggage out of my hand and sets off

  
“Boris” I say breathlessly, trying to keep up with his fast pace. “Hobie, um what-“

  
“Busy, busy I collect you instead” he thinks for a second “no is lie, I wanted to come”

  
He motions over a grey Mercedes which pulls up and I scrabble in, him following.  
“Welcome back Theo” says a voice with a thick accent from the front seat, he turns around and clasps my hands, its Gyuri and he hasn’t aged a bit. I manage to stutter a thank you .

  
“Potter, potter, potter” says Boris affectionately, lazily slinging his arm around my shoulders “is been a while, yes? Long time no hear”

  
“long time no see” I find myself saying

  
“Huh?” he replies, eyebrows arching amused

  
“It’s long time no see, not hear” I start and stop when I realise he’s laughing softly

  
“Still same old potter, ha!” he exclaims “but how are you? You must tell me”

  
“I’m” I pause, trying to find the right word “better” I finish

  
He nods with a knowing look then I can almost see a thought pass over him  
“you didn’t call though” he states looking at me, almost intensely

  
“neither did you” I point out, I did not tell him about how when it got late at night, moon shining through the window of wherever I was staying did I contemplate it, phone I hand.  
I, of course, never did dial. “but anyway” I say, before he tries to reply “how are you Boris? What have you been doing all this while?”

  
“you know, this and that” he grins at my sigh “no really, but business is slower at Christmas, I think Americans are maybe too happy”

  
I’d almost forgotten it was a week away from Christmas, but looking out the window I saw the storefronts brightly lit, candy canes in every window and little children gazing at the brand new toys available. “What are your plans?” I ask

  
“Plans?” he queries

  
“For Christmas”

  
“Ha! Not Christmas for Russians just yet” he laughs

  
“so you don’t have plans then?” I ask

  
He gives a typical russiante shrug “guess not”

“then stay with me” I all but blurt out impulsively, without even really thinking

  
“what?” he looks at me curiously

  
“For Christmas I mean, we can watch crappy movies, I think I have wine somewhere in my apartment” I try to say as casually as I can muster

  
He scoffs “wine? No no, I bring something a little stronger I think”

  
“So you’ll come?”

  
He smiles at me playfully “come where?”

  
“with me!” I say exasperatedly

  
A laugh followed by “alright, alright of course, nowhere better than with my dearest friend”


	2. Only ever you

We make a stop to Hobie’s shop first, at Boris’ insistence that we pick up popper. I try to ignore him exclaiming “ah Popchyk, true love of my life, light of my lamp, little ball of fluff” he looks up at me “Isn’t he precious?” I sigh at him but feel a smile tugging at my lips as I watch him scoop up the small dog, kissing him repeatedly. Popper, of course, loves it.

“Theo!” calls Hobie as soon as he sees me and pulls me into a hug “so good to see you, I trust you’ve been well” I smile politely “I have, thankyou”

“You certainly look it” he nods approvingly then turns to Boris “I hope you will not be a bad influence on this progress now”

“I will not” he says in a very serious tone, one I have rarely heard from him “after all, I owe him my life”

Hobie looks at me in alarm “He means it metaphorically” I lie “Come on Boris” I say and almost drag him out of the shop.

I turn on the lights in my apartment and suddenly, in a flicker, we can actually see pretty much the entire apartment as it's that small. Boris collapses dramatically onto the sofa and Popper jumps up onto his lap.

“Come on” I say looking around “We should eat something” but much to my dismay the shelves are empty for the most part. “Just order something” replies Boris “Chinese I think is perhaps good?”

Somehow or other I find myself on the sofa with Boris, popper curled up between us and a half eaten Chinese takeout on the table. I flick through the Tv channels “there’s nothing good” I complain

“you have any dvds?” says Boris hopefully

“none, unless you like the trash films Kitsey liked” I reply glancing over to the stacks of chic flick in the corner. It was all she ever wanted to watch and, truth be told, I was too weary to argue with her.

“but wait” he laughs all of a sudden as a thought comes to him “maybe I have something”

“Really?” I respond incredulously, watching him rummage through the small suitcase he brought with him.

“Here!” he exclaims proudly, flourishing an old DVD ‘Its a wonderful life’

“You kept it?” I ask when I realise its none other than the one we used to watch as kids. We didn’t own many DVDs so we watched the same few over and over till we knew almost all the lines.

“one of the few things I brought with me from that place” he admitted “Ha! Couldn’t bring the painting but I brought this!”

I find myself laughing at his pleased expression “you’re so strange Boris” I reply

“But I had to bring it” he says with a grin “remember how you used to cry every time we watched it? You were so cute”

“Fuck you” I reply as I feel my cheeks get warm “I don’t remember” I say shortly

He laughs at my expression and inserts the disk into the Tv. I take a sip of the Vodka he brought and pass the bottle to him, an agreeable silence hovering over us as we watch the film. It’s been a year since I last saw him, but it could’ve been just a minute. Somehow it felt as if we were timeless, drifting through a blur of memories. I guess its always been this way, us against the world. It’s the moonlight scene and I feel a warm hand brush against my face, I turn and realise my eyes are filled with tears.

“Told you” murmurs Boris softly as he wipes them away

“Its not that” I say “Its-“ but how could I explain to him?

“Shhh” he whispers then pulls me close I rest my head on his shoulder, sobbing softly. I can’t stop. “is okay” he whispers again “is only me, remember?”

Of course I remember, it has only ever been him.


	3. Coffee, 3 sugars

I wake up groggily and decide to make some tea, hoping my eyes aren’t too swollen from last night. 

“that for me?” yawns Boris as I push a mug towards him

“no” I laugh “its for the other idiot who likes tea piping hot with 3 sugars”

“You remembered” he exclaimed delighted 

I pour my own tea, black and sip it. “What do you want to do today?” I ask

He thinks about this question then shrugs “whatever you’d like” he says and grins “maybe something different to getting drunk or high, a change perhaps ha!”

I smile “lets go into the city then”

Walking through New York in the morning was an experience in itself, the smell of hot coffee mixed with the wet cement builders were piling on the road lingered in the air. Buskers played variations of every Christmas song they could find, so much so I was sure my ears would bleed if I heard ‘Rudolph the red nose reindeer’ on another scratchy violin.

Looking over, I find Boris to be just as entranced as me, his hair softly blowing in the wind against his pale face. His eyes catch mine, I look away and he laughs softly. “Look all you want” he says with a playful smile 

“Fuck you” I say shoving him “I wasn’t looking at you, don’t flatter yourself”

“mmm sure, sure” he shakes his head grinning

“its true!” I protest before being interrupted by a girl holding a basket of mistletoe which it seems she was giving out

“mistletoe for you?” she says to Boris “for your luck as a couple this Christmas”

I slowly realise she means Boris and I. I flush, panicked “We’re not-“ I begin

“Thankyou” Boris says with a charming smile, interrupting me

“Why did you do that?” I mumble as soon as she was out of sight, very much embarrassed 

“You think too much” Boris laughs “Its just a Christmas twig”

I sigh “yes but-“

“unless” Boris says with a sly smile and raises the branch of mistletoe over me “You’d like a kiss?”

“Don’t be ridiculous” I reply as I feel my face heat up, but before I can say anymore I feel Boris’ cold hand cup my cheek and his lips brush my cheek, ever so slightly. “Happy Christmas” he says then continues to walk

“Boris, Boris” I say struggling to catch up to him “what the motherfuck”

“Felt like it” he says in return 

“That’s not how it works” I reply irritated “You can’t just-“

“Then how does it work, Theo?” he says as a flash of anger crosses his eyes “Like you’d know”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing”

“Boris…”

“You’re not drunk enough to care” he says finally 

Then I take his hand and raise it up to my lips, I’m not sure why I do but it makes sense.

He stares at me in silence for a while then a teasing smile creeps up on his face “Felt like it?” he asks finally with a laugh

I sigh “Let’s go home”

He reaches out to clasp my hand and I let him.


	4. Drunken Truths and stolen kisses

I watch Boris who’s laying on my bed, his eyes closed with Popper curled up by his head, same as when we were children. His hair is still as wild as when were young but now the curls have softened, his skin just as milky pale but there are scars I’ve never seen before. 

Instinctively I reach out to run my hand through his curls, trace over the ridges of the scars on his face. Boris’ eyes flutter open though, stopping me in my tracks.

“don’t let me stop you” he grins, flashing his veneers and laughs at my guilty expression. “So mister American Christmas, what do you want to do today?”

“Since when was my name mister American Christmas?” I ask shaking my head at him,, but I can't help but smile

“Ever since I found out you too were fooled by the American economy, Potter” he replies and raises a pillow from the bed. 

I’m too late to dodge it and the force of it nearly makes me topple off the bed from surprise.

“Fuck you” I say and throw a pillow back at him, but much to my annoyance he catches it.

He raises an eyebrow “You have to be quicker Potter” and laughs “you have crappy aim”

“You weren’t saying that when I saved your ass” I retort

“Sorry” replies Boris in a sarcastic voice “I forgot your girly aim”

I shove him and am about to respond when-

“Potter” says Boris in a hushed voice “look, the window”

I glance out to see a thin layer of snow dusting the ground, the snow falling softly. 

“White Christmas, huh?” I say with a smile

He says nothing but smiles back at me. I stand up to pour us coffee, Boris has already claimed a mug which, no surprise, has a picture of a small dog on it. It feels like Boris has lived in this apartment for just as long as me, I try not to think of it but I know I can’t bear the thought of him leaving. Boris has somehow always filled wherever he went with a kind of gleeful joy and when he’s not there, well, everything feels much more muted. 

“Rouble for your thoughts?” Boris says laughing while Popper eagerly licks him, desperate for the attention.

“It’s penny, Boris” I say “and I was just thinking of the future really”

He glances up at me from Popper 

“Future?”

“Do you know what you want in your future?” I ask him and hand him his mug, which he accepts with a smile

He pauses “I don’t think too much over questions like this, present more important, no?”

“Yes” I say sighing “but you must have some idea, right”

He shrugs “I suppose I continue entrepreneur work, travel, this and that, in fact” his face lights up “maybe go to Russia next, not been in while”

“Right of course” I say, meaning for it to come out matter of factly, but it comes out almost bitterly I think.

“What’s wrong?” boris asks, tilting his head slightly to the side “why the face?”

“Nothing, really” I reply. 

Of course, for some reason it felt like it would always be Boris and I, but I suppose that was a strange way of thinking. “It’s Christmas tomorrow, you know”

“Yes” Boris laughs “America will never let me forget that”. I watch as he rummages through the cupboards till he finds an old bottle “but today I think we drink”

We had been good so far, in fact we hadn’t been that drunk or high at all. I like to think that we are more sensible now than we were in Vegas, which is, for the most part, probably true. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt” I say watching him grin.

Hours later, we’ve collapsed on the couch, bottle in hand. We’re close, dangerously so I find myself thinking. I’m intoxicated.

“You look tired” says Boris, his fingertips tracing lines under my eye “you want to sleep?”

“Let’s just stay like this” I reply closing my eyes “forever and ever”

He shakes his head softly at me “no such thing as forever Potter”

“There might be”

“Don’t do this” he says looking away suddenly, breaking our dreamlike trance.

“Do what?”

“Say things you don’t mean”

I look up at him, his big eyes and milky skin “I mean it”

“Yes, yes” he replies “now you do, tomorrow? Probably not”

My mind feels thick and heavy with alcohol and thoughts “I’m sorry Boris” I choke out 

“I thought about you a lot you know” he says “looked at the owner of every little dog, hoping that maybe it might be you”

“Boris”

“and that fucked up time in Vegas? Ha! Wanted to die, nearly overdosed but you know why I didn’t?”

I look up numbly, trying to sober up, knowing this is important.

“You, you and your stupid painting. Thought maybe if I could return it, just maybe it would bring you back. Spent years trying to find it, travelling to different countries searching. Then I found it, found you but you? Engaged, forget about me already I think. You say you learn Russian for me, makes me so happy you don’t even know”

“Boris”

“and every time you tried to kill yourself, I stopped you because I didn’t want to be alone. In Vegas and now here, I don’t want you to die, it would kill me and you don’t even know”

“Boris” i whisper again as tears form in my eyes, clouding my vision

“Shh” he says, stroking my cheek 

I grab his hand and then kiss him. His lips are soft against mine, tasting of cigarettes and spirits. 

It’s Boris who pulls away first and I can see tears forming in his eyes, though he looks away. 

“Sorry” I mumble though I’m not but I feel like I should say something.

“sleep” he states and I do, falling deeply into a heavy alcohol coma.


	5. Vegas again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked and I delivered :)  
> I hope you love reading this as much as I like writing this! Your comments mean so much to me xx  
> Come say hi on tumblr- @hummingafterhours

I wake up in the morning with a splitting headache as harsh morning light streams in through the window. I can’t remember much of the night before apart from that I kissed him. I feel sick with the remembrance, sick and guilty.

“Happy Christmas” says Boris with a half smile, he's sitting across the room on the sofa watching me.

“Oh” I stutter, I had completely forgotten “yes, happy Christmas”

“Do you want me to get you some aspirin?” he asks, getting up and removing popper from his lap.

“Yes” I say “please”

He hands me a cup of water and a pill and I down it gratefully but I feel his gaze on me, watching to see what I do next.

“About last night” I start slowly, not really sure what to say or how to begin. We’ve never acknowledged anything before after all, it was always so much easier that way. 

“Is fine, Potter” he cuts me off midway 

“No really I-“

“I sad it’s fine” he repeats slightly louder “just forget it”

There’s an awkward silence between us and I break it  
“What do you want to do, grab brunch?” I ask, almost hopefully 

He looks at me slowly “I think I should go”

“no wait, what? It’s Christmas you can’t go”

“Because it’s Christmas I can’t go?” Boris shakes his head “is better that I go quicker I think, for you and me”

“Where would you go?” I ask dumbly although that’s not really what I want to say

“You know me, anywhere, everywhere!” He replies with an attempt at a smile but Its obvious that he’s hurt, although he tries not to show it with his all too familiar air of bravado.

“Just stay another day Boris” I half beg “please, just another day, that’s all”

He stands up, shakes his head softly at me “Potter” he sighs as he begins to gather his belongings “Do you remember what I said to you last night?”

Regretfully I can’t, “no” I murmur looking down ashamed. I should stop drinking I think, maybe I really am a blackout drunk.

He looks away “didn’t think so” 

I don’t say anything but watch him pack the few things he brought into his suitcase. He looks at the dvd and slowly pick it up “you keep it” he says.

“No, Boris” I say softly “it’s yours”

He laughs bitterly “take it”

“Boris, please”

Boris looks up "I think you should talk to someone Theo"

There's a silence between us, a line crossed.

“I don’t need to” I reply shortly, looking away to avoid his sweeping gaze and the disappointment that comes with it. I remember all too well the therapist in New York, her steel voice and the scratch of her ink pen on paper. Acting like she knew me when she really had no idea.

  
He laughs bitterly again, I take the dvd and he leaves just like that. 

Every time he leaves it feels like Vegas again.


	6. Popper is depressed

I spent the rest of Christmas alone and then on Monday I went back to work in the shop with Hobie. The week with Boris feels like a hazy dreams now and yet, I was probably more alive than I’d ever felt. Thankfully Hobie didn’t say anything when I returned, just a raised eyebrow and a sigh I pretended not to hear. I've made myself busy in the shop, dreading closing time when I have to go back to the apartment alone.

I'm also pretty sure Popper is depressed.

Pippa comes in a couple weeks later, the red haired morphine lollipop from my childhood. Somehow I don’t feel the same way when I see her like I used to do, she is almost a sister to me now. 

“Theo!” Pippa says bounding into the shop enthusiastic as ever “How are you?”

“You know” I smile, best I can “the usual”

“Cut the crap Theo” she laughs and grabs the stool next to my desk, swinging her legs over as she sits on it.

“well I guess not that great” I admit, Pippa can definitely read people very well or maybe I’m just easy to read in general.

“Ever since Boris left huh?”

I flush “I suppose-“

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” says Pippa exasperatedly with a sigh “you have his number”

I did in fact have his number but we never texted or called, it wasn’t exactly our style. I was far more used to random and sporadic visits.

“Maybe” I reply doubtfully “but Pip, I don’t even know if I want that”

“Why not?” she laughs, looking at me like I’m being ridiculous “you’re best friends, aren’t you?”

“He said I should get help, pip” I say looking away, the floorboards never seemed so interesting.

“Help?”

“Therapy”

Pippa takes a pen from the desk and twirls it with her fingers “well” she says lightly “maybe you should?”

I don’t know quite how to respond to that but the shop door rings as a customer comes in, saving me from answering . 

“Hello darling” the lady entering says “my poor little dog went missing yesterday and I was wondering if I could hang a flyer outside your shop?”

“Yes of course” I reply, the lady looks to be around late 70s, her white hair set in curls, wearing a beautiful green vintage dress and pearls.

“Thank you darling” she smiles with visible relief and hands me the flyer which I tack to the wall.

“No problem” I say, watching her leave, seeing the door swing shut behind her

“Who was that?” calls Pippa

“Just a lady with a missing dog” I reply. Its not so uncommon in such a busy city as New York, in fact I already have a couple of flyers up of other missing dogs. I found it hard to say no to those sort of requests.

“Poor thing” Pippa replies

I think of Popper, knowing I would be devastated if he went missing, as would, I find myself thinking, Boris.

“looked at the owner of every little dog, hoping that maybe it might be you” says his voice in my brain all of a sudden “you, you and your stupid painting”. I remember.

I look up at Pippa who rests her hand lightly on my shoulder “you need to talk to him Theo" she says "just call him"


	7. Let me live for you

“Boris?” I say when the phone line connects at last “Boris”

“Theo?” he asks, confusion evident in his voice

“It’s me” I say “I think we should talk”

I hear him sigh at the other end followed by a pause “About what?”

“About..” I struggle, trying to say the right words “about us”

“Us?”

“You know what I mean” I say In exasperation “please, just please can we talk”

“Okay” he replies simply without much hesitation to my surprise.

“So you’ll meet me?”

“Yes”

“Okay” I stutter in almost disbelief, not exactly expecting him to agree “just come to my apartment, you know where it is of course ”

“Fine” he says and the phone line cuts dead.

I busy myself the rest of the day cleaning up the apartment, trying to get my life back together and to at least look decent. I shower, put on new clothes and think about my appearance for a little longer than neccesary, However, there is a part of me which thinks maybe Boris won’t come, that his words are empty. 

But the doorbell rings at 7 like said.

“You came” I say relieved as I open it. 

Boris shrugs “you asked me to”  
He’s wearing black jeans, a grey cashmere sweater and his usual sleek silver watch. A put together look but the dark circles underneath his eyes tell a different story.

“Yes” I reply slowly, taking him in “yes, I did”

“So..” he drifts off, motioning with his hand “your apartment, I think is nice, clean yes?” 

“Yeah” I murmur as we awkwardly stand “but that’s not exactly what I wanted to talk to you about”

“You wanted to talk about” he arches an eyebrow “us”

“Yes” I admit “I remember what you said to me that night now, Christmas Eve, that you never forgot me.”

“is true”

You know I always thought you did, that you didn’t really care, just felt a little guilty about the painting”

“How could I not care about you” Boris mutters looking at the floor “we were like brothers, more even”

“Yes but at the bar you told me I was the only one” I feel that all too familiar wave of shame rushing through me, “when we did those...those things when we were younger, you said I thought it was more. How could- ”

“Because” he flares up “because you were fucking engaged, because I thought you hated me.”

“You were married Boris” my voice raised “are married, kids”

“Separated though” he replies dismissively “I told you that”

“Sure” I say coolly “like every girl you’ve proclaimed your love for?” 

“Is this about kotku?” 

“For fucks sake Boris, its never been about Kotku”

He laughs bitterly in response “because unlike you, she actually remembered what had happened the night before, and yes, maybe she was a distraction from us..” 

A wave of guilt with streaks of panic washes over me "“You left me, all alone in crappy Vegas”

“No I didn’t, you could’ve come!”

“What? Just to see you and Kotku exchange saliva?”

“You were jealous”

“What does it matter?”

“That’s all I ever wanted” he admitted looking up at me “for you to just admit you were jealous, that you cared about me”

“ I did care about you, for fucks sake I loved you, you knew that”  
I flush, It had been years since I had admitted that, what I had felt when I left. I feel Boris’ hand cup my cheek, his expression is softer than I’ve ever seen before.

“ you did?” his voice almost cracks with emotion, I realise it may possibly be the first time anyone’s ever told him and meant it “and now?”

I pause, trying to stifle the wave of nausea that hits me “I feel like I need to talk to someone”

“Yes?” 

“Therapy, I mean” I say looking away “get some help”

He smiles softly “there’s no shame in it”

“and you won’t leave?” I have to ask.

“No” he states simply and embraces me all of a sudden. I force myself to relax, ignore the guilt I feel and focus on the warmth of his body against mine. "Potter" he whispers, his head against my shoulder "Please, live for me"


	8. What do we call our love?

Morning light streams in through a small chink between the window and curtain. I look over to see Boris laying next to me, his arm carelessly slung on top of my torso. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I move his arm slowly and pull the thick white duvet back on him as I stand up groggily. I remember falling asleep quickly last night, after we had said what we needed to we just lay in a comfortable silence.

“Potter” comes his voice, interrupting my morning blurry thoughts

“Oh sorry, did I wake you?” I ask as he sits up and props himself against two pillows

“is fine, no problem” he says with a half asleep grin 

I smile back awkwardly “I found someone nearby, well Pippa did really, a therapist like I said”

“You’re going through with it?” he asks and I can see almost visible relief across his face 

“I said I would” I reply sheepishly “and well, I really meant all the things I said yesterday. I want to be a better person, honest with myself. I sent Pippa a text last night and she thought it would be good for me as well”

“wise girl, I always think that” he says, pulling my arm so I fall back into the bed “but perhaps is too early to be thinking? We visit in the afternoon”

Dread fills my stomach like a pit , I hadn’t contemplated going so soon. “This afternoon? No, Boris, come on, So soon?”

Boris leans in and brushes my hair off my forehead with his fingers before looking into my eyes seriously “I think soon is good, is better to face fears, I go with you, yes?”

Boris, coming with me? I couldn’t imagine him opposite a therapist, let alone in the same rom as one. “really?” I ask dubiously 

“why strange face?” he laughs “is like couples therapy, ha!”

“we’re not-“

“yes, yes I know” he raises an eyebrow critically “I didn’t say we were”

“right” I reply at once flustered “no, of course, um no you’re right, sooner is better”

He laughs again “stupid blyat, then we go now!” he looks me up and down “but first, wear a suit, yes and shower”

I shower before getting changed letting the warm water trickled down my back, shave and then put on a grey woollen suit. “Lets go then” I tell Boris who’s wearing his typical black suit with his shirt unbuttoned at the top. 

“Goodbye my little popchyk” he tells Popper, picking him up and kissing him repeatedly “you stay here, be good, da?” 

I groan “come on, seriously is that needed?”

I watch as a smile plays at his lips “Potter” he says affectionately “you are just as important to me, do not be jealous of little popchyk”

I flush and before I can retort he whisks me outside onto the streets of New York. The snow from Christmas has turned into sludge but that doesn’t seem to affect Boris, who walks fast paced as ever. We stop outside the address Pippa sent, it’s a tall building with large windows, I try not to panic at the idea of going inside.

Boris, it seems, notices my discomfort at our arrival “we go in together, yes?” he reminds me

I smile gratefully at him “yes” and we enter.

In a matter of minutes we’re whisked away and into a room with a therapist who introduces herself as ‘Jaz’. Jaz looks to be in her late twenties, short dark hair and wearing a light pink shirt tucked into a neat black skirt.

“Hello Boris and Theodore” she says as we sit down “or is it Theo?”

  
“Theo” I shrug awkwardly “whatever”

“Theo it is then” she smiles at me, in what appears to be genuine friendliness “so I’ve received all the details that you put down on the form, about the bombing your mother and Vegas. Today I was thinking we should discuss Vegas, can you tell me about it?”

“well” I say slowly after an encouraging nod from Boris “it was kind of crappy, not much food in the house most of the time and nothing to do apart from..”

“yes?” Jaz said after I paused

“well get drunk or high” I admit reluctantly 

“We got pills from Xandra, not serious shit at first but later, yes” adds Boris 

“Xandra, your dad’s girlfriend? Tell me about her” asks Jaz as she writes down something in her notebook 

“Hot” says Boris with a laugh and I shove him reproachfully 

“She was alright” I reply “She didn’t really like me all that much, liked Boris though, took him in after I left”

“is true” confirms Boris “she was good to me then, I was in bad state and she let me stay”

“I see” states Jaz simply “I wonder what it was like for you, Boris, after Theo left”

Boris shifts uncomfortably in his seat “well fucked up time, I always said”

“yes?” Jaz presses

“I was high for most time, Kotku left because I could barely think properly, ha! Felt guilt that I did not come with Potter. Did not text because I thought he hated me”

I look at him “I never hated you, I couldn’t” I say softly

“you have a deep bond” Jaz notes “how would you describe it?”

I know that there are no words for what we have, nothing could come close. “we were best friends throughout childhood” I offer reluctantly

“more” says Boris looking at me “would die for him”

Again, that familiar surge of panic rushes through me and I can’t help but look away. Jaz notices.  
“Could you perhaps call it love?” she asks softly to me.

“Of course” says Boris enthusiastically, making me groan as I know he doesn’t understand quite what she means “I love Potter with my soul, dearest friend of mine”

If Jaz is taken back by Boris’s reply, she doesn’t show it. “Yes Boris” she says instead “but I was thinking, how should I put this, romantically?”


	9. If you let go of my hand, will I see you again?

“can we not?” I murmur avoiding Jaz’s gaze which I find extremely hard to escape.

“does that make you uncomfortable, Theo?” she asks “the idea of being attracted to a man?”

“It’s not that I-“ I flush “It’s just, well, my mother never liked it”

“But your mother was from a different generation” Jaz says kindly “we live in a much more accepting society, there’s no shame anymore”

“Potter” interrupts Boris with a laugh “Old poofter is nice and you accept him”

“We don’t know that Hobie is” I begin but find that I can’t continue

Jaz smiles at me “It’s okay Theo, I won’t press you any further for now but before I go, Boris can you answer my question? Would you say your love for Theo is romantic?”

Boris shrugs and is about to answer but I find that I don’t really want to know so I interrupt with “Our session is up, lets go Boris”

Jaz smiles again “See you next week?”

“Sure” I say reluctantly “Thanks Jaz”

We leave the building at last and I ignore Boris’s protests. “Lets get a drink?” Boris asks finally “is much needed I think”

“very needed” I agree with a relieved sigh and watch as Boris visibly relaxes.

We soon find ourselves at some bar whose owner Boris knows, god knows how. He says something charming in Russian to the girl at the front and she lets us in with a smile. The interior is dimly lit with red booths made of, it seems, expensive fabric. I watch warily as Boris orders something from the bar and instead of sitting opposite, he slides in next to me and slings his arm around me.

“We have company, it seems” he laughs looking ahead

“Yes?” I ask cautiously but I’m answered with a very large man sliding in opposite, Gyuri. “Hello Gyuri” I say politely.

“Good evening Theo” he returns before he speaks in a flow of rapid Russian to Boris. I cannot understand much, despite months learning, but I manage to catch a few phrases ‘trouble’ and ‘leave’. 

“Is something wrong?” I ask Boris who's expression has soured, ignoring Gyuri’s glare at my interruption. 

Boris shifts uncomfortably in his seat “Well” he says slowly “how should I put it? We sold man a precious item, very expensive, not quite the original but good copy. He should be happy with that, yes? Turns out nyet, he is angry and wants original”

“So” I say, confused still “just give him the original like he paid for”

“is gone” he shrugs “sold maybe one, two years ago?”

I don’t respond so he continues “so I must go to Amsterdam now to find man, sort it out, no trouble”

“You’re leaving” I say flatly after a pause “wow”

“Look, is not for long, maybe a month..max” he sighs “am sorry, said I would go to therapy with you next week, I go as soon as I can, promise”

“Yeah, sure” I reply but I feel my heart sinking “whatever, I don’t care Boris”

“I care” he says seriously then he laughs as a thought occurs to him “even if little Popchyk will miss me more than you will”

Gyuri grunts and I remember all of a sudden that he’s here so I stand up to leave awkwardly. As Boris’s arm falls from my shoudler I catch his hand, find that I can’t say goodbye so I just squeeze it lightly, like we did when we were younger and I had nightmares about bombings and buildings on fire. I squeeze his hand three times 'I trust you' but it feels like it means far more than that now.


	10. But you promised you'd come

Once again I am lying here on my bed staring aimlessly up at the ceiling.  
I tried to go to therapy last week, I even walked to the building but I found I was unable to go in, that is, without Boris. I stood there, maybe for an hour and then left.   
I wonder what I did before Boris returned, even before Kitsey and our doomed engagement. Now, I realise, I’ve never felt more alone despite the bustling streets and heavy flow of customers in New York. Boris will come back, I tell myself, of course he will. He will come back and laugh at me for being ridiculous, he will say “Potter” in his stupid Russian accent “You blyat, I was always going to come back”. It’s been two months though, the texts and calls have stopped. 

“Theo” said Hobie in the shop earlier today, with his look that told me he was obviously worried and concerned “Come have dinner with me and Pippa tonight”

I agreed, mostly to soothe him and partly to escape my empty apartment.  
I flip over to the other side of the bed and check the time, I’m a little late so I shave quickly and throw on a casual suit with a spritz of cologne. 

“Theo!” squeals Pippa greeting me with a hug as I enter “You made it”

I smile “Of course Pip, would not miss it for the world”

“Liar” she laughs and enters the kitchen, I follow close behind.

Hobie is cooking in the kitchen, stirring a large pot of what seems to be some kind of meat stew and wearing a professional white apron. “Hello Theo” he says when he sees me and smiles.

“Thanks for inviting me” I reply politely 

“Nonsense” he laughs “You’re like family now, you should know that”

Hobie ushers Pippa and I into the dining room where we sit, eat and talk. It’s lovely conversation and the food is, of course, delicious but I cannot fully enjoy it.

“How’s Boris?” asks Pippa before taking some focaccia bread and dipping it into the stew “I’ve not seen him around in ages”

“I’m not sure” I admit reluctantly “He said he’d be back ages ago, but hey” I laugh, almost bitterly “That’s Boris, right?”

“Right” replies Hobie relieved “I do wish you too were less stubborn in communicating though”

My cheeks warm “we’re not, I mean, he texts when he needs to..he doesn’t owe me anything”  
I choose to ignore the looks that exchange between Pippa and Hobie, the infuriatingly knowing glances and quickly drink up the rest of my wine.

“I understand Theo” says Pippa gently after an awkward and lengthy pause “I know how how close your bond, no, friendship is”

“No” I snap “You don’t understand, how could you?”

Pippa’s face falls and I immediately feel guilty “Sorry Pip” I murmur “sorry, it’s just, I don’t know, I should really leave”

“You don’t have to” says Hobie “You can stay as long as you’d like, overnight if you want”

“No, no” I reply hastily “really, I should get back, popper you know?”

I quickly grab my coat, even though I feel the disappointed gaze from Pippa and Hobie. “Thanks for having me again” I tell them “I mean it, really”

Popper is excited to see me when I return to my cold apartment, wagging his tail in a frenzy.   
I lay on the couch aimlessly scrolling through Tv channels but am interrupted with a ring from my phone, it’s Boris. 

“Boris!” I say breathless, picking it up immediately “What, where are you?”

I expect to hear his voice in reply but to my surprise it’s Gyuri “Theo” he says and for the first time ever he shows emotion as his voice cracks “I’m so sorry”

I can’t breathe “what?” 

“The man in Amsterdam, he wanted your painting, The little bird, you know”

“What?”

“But Boris” he continues as he regains breath “He was too stubborn, he wouldn’t let him have it. Says more important than him.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“He’s dead Theo” Gyuri replies breaking into a sob “He’s dead”


	11. After Hours

“No” I say but my voice comes out as barely a whisper, I try to sound more confident “No, he told me he’d be back, he is coming home”

“Theo” replies Gyuri, his voice still raw with emotion “Am so sorry, the man sent us a photo of him, his body in the canal”

“No” I repeat louder “No, don’t, stop it, stop lying” I don’t want to hear this, surely he must be wrong. Boris had said he’d return, that it would be easy.

“Boris, he messed with wrong man this time. He was so obsessed with getting your bird back, he said it was most important. The man he was dealing with was Mafia. Very rich, very strong”

"No, I-"

“Its true but” continues Gyuri “am sure he loved you, always”

“stop” I choke and hang up as my phone clatters to the ground. My mind is engulfed with a white hot heat that burns into every memory. Boris, the crazy teenage boy with messy black curls and crooked teeth that burst into smile at any given moment. Boris, lighting a cigarette and exhaling ashy smoke. Boris, his pale skin glistening from the pool and the moonlight. Boris, desperate hands pulling me from the highway where I wanted to die and me screaming at him to let me be. Boris, adult now storming into my life like a weather system. Boris. Boris. Boris.

Nausea overwhelms me and I vomit into the sink, it’s closer than the bathroom. This is not real, this is not happening to me. I flush my mouth out with water from the tap. Popper yaps at me. I think I'm going mad

I lay on my bed, I call Boris but of course he doesn’t pick up. Minutes turn into hours.

I am so stupid, why did I let him leave? I knew, surely I knew it could never go well.

Boris, you’re so fucking stupid, you lied to me. I trusted you.

Boris, come back. There’s so much left to say.

Boris. Boris. Boris.

-A month later-

It’s been a month since the news. I don’t leave the apartment much. Hobie and Pippa drop by to give me food and I feel guilty for their charity and kindness but cannot bring myself to do anything. There are no colours anymore, no distractions, the moon no longer shines. I think the night sky hates me. I know I need to go back to work, to normality. "Just a bit more time" I told Hobie who nodded sadly.

I still feed Popper, although sometimes I hate the sight of him. My constant reminder.

I often listen to music now, just to feel something. Flicking through the old tracks my mother liked which, consequently, so did Boris. I listen to ‘After Hours’ on repeat.

_‘But if you close the door_

_The night could last forever’_

If I close my eyes, I can still hear his humming in my ear. Boris, outside with me in Vegas, humming our song 'after hours'.


	12. A short flight home

The peculiar notion about life is, no matter what, the sun always rises again in the morning.

I watch out my small apartment window as the sky slowly turns a bittersweet grapefruit colour in which clouds float in, like ice cubes in pink lemonade. I know I must adapt, live differently, but how can I when everything I know about the world is gone? Boris would laugh at me. 

Somehow, something must be done.

I take a cold shower first, letting out a short gasp as the icy droplets run down my spine. A quick shave, a washed suit put on and the retrieval of Popper’s lead.

Popper and I take the long walk to the antiques shop, the crowd swallows us and I relish in it. They press in all around me, from all sides, masses upon masses of people. Boris always hated the city for this reason, but I love it- the anonymity.

Upon entering, Hobie greets me with a sympathetic yet relieved smile “Theo!” he says “I’m so glad you’re back”

“Thank you, I’m sorry it took so long” I reply politely with a small smile.

“Not at all” says Hobie brightly “Not at all” he looks down at Popper in surprise “You brought the dog?”

I shrug and look away “He needed a change of scenery”

“Listen, Theo” says Hobie in a more serious tone “I’m so sorry about Boris, if there’s anything I can do..”

I simply watch as he trails off “I’ll let you know” I say “Thank you”

I work my usual hours watching as the customers come in and out and in and out. I laugh at this monotony. It takes me a while to polish the antiques, sort out all the finances that got mixed up while I was gone but I manage to leave the shop at five. I take a long look at Popper, the rather old and small white dog now. Tousling his fur “Goodbye, Popchyk” I murmur and let myself out.

I walk until I find myself at an art gallery, or rather, the art gallery. It doesn’t look the same as before, far more modern I think as I step inside. Room 17 the map at reception says. There it is, The Goldfinch, hanging on the wall in solitude, no paintings accompanying.

Standing in front of it, I see the bird for what it really is, a chained prisoner looking at me, urging me to understand and I do. This realisation overwhelms me.

For I am the Goldfinch, the prisoner.

I have always been the goldfinch, perhaps earlier than the bombing, perhaps I was always born the prisoner. My cage, my heart.

The sky is dusk now outside, I walk a little more, just a little longer. Brooklyn bridge, I remember the poem I learnt once as a child by Hart Crane, Boris and I found it hard to understand, to truly comprehend. A love story so tragic. Now I can understand, there is no tragedy, just life.

Life is so devastatingly beautiful but there is a beginning and an end for everybody. You can choose fear or acceptance, I the latter, but there is a final chapter to every story. 

Was my story a love story? It was so much more.

It cannot be defined by any therapist nor by anybody on this earth. Love is the term flung around from boyfriend to girlfriend, it’s meaning lost upon the casual utterance. Loving is vain, there is no truth in a phrase which is told to all.

So I say to only you, to Boris. I adore you.

Our last Christmas together was beautiful, a snow globe memory in the desert. 'Live for me' he told me and I will, but not in this life.

A universe where I can finally be at home.

My whole life I have not lived, but now, now I see freedom in the jump. 

The moon, I see it now, across the bridge, pale and milky. He says to me “Come home, let us be one”

The shackle is undone from my foot and I, the Goldfinch, take flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter, thankyou to everyone who has supported me or commented on my writing journey.
> 
> Some of you may have wanted Boris and Theo to end up together, but it was never their true destiny, there never was going to be regular therapy or a wedding.  
> However, in a way they are together, look out at the moon and remember that adoration transcends life and death.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, please let me know if I should write more! I love reading your comments :)  
> Reach out to me on tumblr- @hummingafterhours  
> I'm sorry for doing this to you all...


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